“And So This Is Christmas”
December 12, 2010
Isaiah 35:1-10
I had a conversation with a member about Advent and Christmas this past week. We were discussing the season and she said: “I know there is…no right and perfect way to go about this holiday.”
Those words hit me as pinpointing the problem. Magazines and newspapers tell us what we should or shouldn’t do. From pulpits, clergy tell you do this or don’t do that. Memories inform what will or will not make for the perfect Christmas. “There’s no perfect way to go about this holiday”—but we’d sure like there to be one.
The conversation reminded me of a Martha Stewart Christmas show that I saw several years ago and the wintry chill of dread that I experienced as I watched.
Martha had several designers decorate various Christmas trees. The one that impressed me the most was the first. He was putting all of these tiny white lights on the tree.
He said that he always spent a day putting the lights on before he did the rest of the decorating. I could understand why when he showed how he put the lights on in such a way that each one stood up straight, almost like a miniature candle. And best of all—none of the wires were visible!
Perfect!
I think this is why the Christmas season is so stressful for so many people. We're trying to get the lights right.
That is, we're trying so very hard to make everything just like it was in the magazine, or on TV, or when we were kids, or whatever. We're trying very hard to make things perfect—and it's not going to happen.
Of course, this really has very little to do with Christmas alone. It's the way many people live all year 'round: trying to hide the wire, trying to be perfect, trying to appear without flaw.
In part, I think we do this because we're worried about what other people would think if they found out that we were just flawed human beings. When people realize that the lights on my tree are crooked, when they see my wires, will they still love me?
These days between Thanksgiving and the New Year always seem to come with judgment. Thirty years after his death, John Lennon’s question: “And so this is Christmas, and what have you done?” still rings through the loudspeakers at the mall, calling us to review our actions with “another year over, a new one just begun.” Most will concur with the classic prayer of confession: “We have left undone those things which we ought to have done and we have done those things which we ought not to have done.”
“Here is your God,” Isaiah says. “God will come with vengeance, with terrible recompense.” Hardly the pre-Christmas fare that we want, now, is it? And yet, we who are bold enough to prepare for the coming of Christ must do so recognizing that the advent of God brings judgment.
God have mercy on us.
We move toward Christmas aware of the “terrible recompense of God” as well as our own consciences that are well aware of the good we have left undone.
In a very real sense, the Christian faith is a religion for the dissatisfied.
At times the pain and despair and regret that we feel can seem overwhelming. We long for something different for ourselves. We hope for a new way of living, to be able to love others fully and to be loved in return as well.
We want something more for others, too. We are worn down by the harsh violence and the grinding poverty and the mindless greed lose in the world. We see how things could be—and with Isaiah dream of deserts blossoming, the eyes of the blind opening, the tongues of the speechless singing for joy.
So even in judgment, we hope with Isaiah. “God will come,” Isaiah promises. “God will come and save you.”
Advent invites us to prepare for a new world, a new way of life. Bring to this preparation all your disappointments, all your hurt, all your fearful hopes for something different. Join with those who wait, speaking words of encouragement to one another as we review our past and anticipate the future.
In this context we hear Paul’s words of encouragement to an active and waiting church. His guidelines for our action go to the heart of what we can be as we wait for the new day of the realm of God to dawn.
First, we can be a church that rejoices, a church that knows the joy of life in Christ.
Remember that the announcement of the coming birth of Jesus was followed by Mary’s singing, “My spirit rejoices in God my Savior.” Remember that at the birth of Jesus the angels announced “News of great joy. Remember the teachings of the early Protestant reformers who confessed that the chief ends of humankind are to love God and to enjoy—that’s right, enjoy—God forever.
From its beginning, the church has had a message of joy.
When Paul says—as he does here and elsewhere—“rejoice always.” He’s not talking about putting on bright yellow happy faces and pretending that everything is all right. It isn’t. He’s not talking about comforting ourselves with the thought that “It could be worse”—although it certainly could.
Paul is reminding us that in Jesus Christ all creation—including you and me—are loved and accepted by God.
This is the primary reason for our rejoicing, for our joy. We are not exempt from the problems and dangers of living. We recognize that tragedy can befall us; that we will know illness, anger, sorrow, and grief.
Through all our living, however, we are given the good news of God’s loving presence with us.
We are invited by Paul to look toward the future redemption that God promises, and wait with the community of faith that, first of all, is a congregation that rejoices together.
Paul suggests that the rejoicing community can also be a community that prays.
“Pray constantly,” Paul advises.
And we think, “Who’s he kidding?” We have to fix breakfast, get the kids off to school, go to work, clean up around the house, study, pick up the kids, attend meeting, pick up the kids again—and on top of all of this right now we must finish the Christmas shopping, wrapping, writing, and mailing.
Who has the time to “pray constantly?”
To pray constantly is to give up our lives to God at all times. Constant prayer is an inward attitude that is reflected in our actions.
We get some help here from Calvin, who, in spite of popular portrayals of him as a gloomy and dismal soul, seems to have discovered the connection between prayer and rejoicing. “When we are cast down and laid low,” Calvin writes, “we are raised up again by prayer, because we lay the burden which oppressed us upon God. But since every day, and indeed every moment, there are many things which can disturb our peace and drive away our joy, Paul bids us to pray without ceasing.”
We do not pray because we have hours to retreat to be “alone with God”—which, really, is a terrifying thought. We pray as a way of keeping the lines of communication open between ourselves and the Giver of Life. We pray that we might continue in the joy that is offered to us by God. And as we pray we are reminded again and again who we are and who God is.
We pray, not necessarily with our heads bowed, but with our whole being, with our bodies, with our minds, with our spirits. We can move toward God, acknowledging that we are forgiven and accepted because of God’s grace in Christ. And we can acknowledge that others are accepted as well.
Prayer, especially prayer that is constant, is not something done in isolation. It moves us toward others to heal, to bring justice, to make peace. This type of prayer is not satisfied with how things are. It hopes and works and waits for the day when the will of God will be done on earth as it is in heaven.
When we pray, we can unload the hurt and the pain that we feel, knowing that other hurt as well. When we pray, we are sent from our painful, isolated lives into the world where others are hurting, to bring the good news of God’s love and reconciliation. When we pray constantly we open ourselves to a new reality where deserts blossom.
Finally, Paul tells us that the rejoicing and praying church can be a church that gives thanks—in all circumstances. This is not because everything always goes well for those who are people of faith. Certainly we have lived long enough to know that. Giving thanks, however, turns our focus away from ourselves, away from our lives and back toward the living God.
Instead of giving thanks, we can lapse into regret over the past or bitterness toward the present. We can chose to “covet” (to use that wonderful “Old Testament” word)—to be envious of what others have and to desire what others have instead of showing gratitude for what we have received.
These choices are always open to us. That means, however, that we can at any time choose to be thankful as well.
The amazing thing about giving thanks in all circumstances is that the more we give thanks, the more we give the rest of what is ours as well: ourselves, our treasures, our talents, our time. Perhaps you have noticed this. Those people who are the most giving generally tend to be the most thankful, not necessarily the ones with the most “stuff” to give. And those people who are the most thankful, gratefully aware of the loving, forgiving presence of God in their lives, also tend to be the most giving.
The church that prepares for the coming of God can be the church that rejoices, prays, and gives thanks. Joy, prayer, and thanksgiving involve us with God, with one another and with the whole world as we look forward to the new age that God is bringing.
Let me make three suggestions as we continue our preparations for Christmas.
First, look for the joy within you. Don’t be confused by the tinsel and the glitter. It points toward the joy, but it is not the joy. In spite of all that might weigh you down and cast a shadow over your life and spirit, there are reasons to rejoice. Look for them. Let them embrace you.
Catch yourself praying. You might be speaking. Or you might be singing or walking or dancing or reading or crying out in exasperation or despair. Chances are you pray without ceasing already. Watch for those occasions when you are giving your life up to God.
Say thank-you. To God, to your neighbor, to family members. Seek out occasions of gratitude.
You see, I'm just wondering. . .
What would our lives be like if we stopped demanding that we and others get the lights right all the time?
What would our lives be like if we lived with the recognition that each of us is a human being with our own unique and wonderful set of flaws and failings and strengths and gifts?
What would our lives be like if we let up on the demand for perfection from ourselves and others at least long enough to see how fun and beautiful imperfect people can be?
You're only human—and that's all you have to be.
After all, the message of Christmas is that being human was good enough for God.
And so, this is Christmas. The weeks ahead can be some of the most trying times of the year. This is a time—as all times are—of both judgment and grace.
In the days ahead, look up. See, God comes to save us.